Tales from the Motor Pool
by Angel of Clay
Summary: What happens if the car breaks down? A series of fluffy one-shots centered around completely impossible car repairs and Tony. Starts pre-series.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I claim nothing, I make no money, but I do have fun!**

**A/N: Okay folks, I shouldn't be doing this, but I paid yet another car repair bill this week and got kinda frustrated. The result was this series. It is going to be a series of short ficlets that have no plot, and little substance. It's basically pointless fluff, but hopefully you'll laugh a little bit. I have a few planned, but I can't make concrete assertions about when I will update. Lastly, anything described below or in subsequent chapters **_**will not**_** actually work, so please don't try it and sue me when things go horribly wrong.**

_-Not Afraid to Give Orders-_

Gibbs sighed; he really didn't want to go through this right now. It was the middle of flipping summer, and hot as hell. He was tired; the day had started at about 0200 with a call to the scene of a double homicide out in the boonies. It was just him and his newest agent, one former homicide detective Anthony DiNozzo, working the case, and they'd been at it for _hours_ without a single break. Gibbs was low on caffeine, completely out of patience, and currently stuck on the side of the road holding the broken timing belt from the charger in his hands. Gibbs looked from the timing belt to his new probie, the younger man leaning against the side of the car gazing at the passing traffic. This was all his fault.

He knew it was an initiation of sorts (one that he even slightly approved of, although he'd never come out and say that), so he should've been expecting it. Really, it was even a little overdue; it shouldn't have caught him off guard.

That still didn't make anything less than damned annoying.

Somehow, the mechanics in the motor pool all thought that each of his probies (if they lasted more than a month) needed a lesson in just how big of a bastard Gibbs could be, and always arranged a little mechanical failure early in their tenure. Now Gibbs was good with cars, a proficient mechanic, and none of the issues were beyond his capability to fix if he had the right part. However, unless he was willing to carry what amounted to enough parts to build an entire engine in the trunk, just in case, the proper part would always have to be purchased.

That would be the point. When Stan Burley had had his turn at this rite of passage, Gibbs had made him run five miles to the nearest auto parts shop to pick up a new starter. Now however, they were almost in the middle of nowhere and unless he told his newest agent to steal a car and find a mechanic they certainly weren't getting out of this anytime soon. Damn the motor pool mechanics for pulling pranks. Damn DiNozzo for being new. Damn the whole freakin' world for being so damned annoying. He didn't have time for this, he had a murderer to catch.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked as he threw the belt at younger man.

"Yeah boss?" DiNozzo looked slightly confused as he easily caught the ungainly auto part.

"Do you know what that is?"

DiNozzo looked at the belt in his hands carefully, Gibbs rolled his eyes. Of course the kid has no idea what he's looking at. "Get to Front Royal and find me another one," he ordered.

"Why don't we just call a tow truck?"

"Do _you_ have cell reception?"

The kid checked his cell phone, scowling slightly as he noted the lack of bars, before looking back at Gibbs. "Boss, we're fifteen miles to Front Royal."

"Then you'd better get moving. I want to be home before dark!"

The new agent paled at the thought of the impossible deadline, and looked down the road toward Front Royal as if contemplating the distance. He then looked back to the belt in his hands, examining the break. Oh this was frustrating! Gibbs had given an order, orders were to be followed, and yet the kid was not moving. Just as Gibbs was about to shout at him, and maybe cuff him on the back of the head, DiNozzo straightened up and started walking.

He got as far as the back passenger side door of the sedan.

Gibbs was a strange mixture of irate and perplexed as a grumbling DiNozzo opened the car door and retrieved a couple of items from his pack, one of them being an expensive looking lighter. Why would a guy who doesn't smoke carry around a lighter? And why wouldn't he just get his ass in gear and get to Front Royal? He was very confused as he watched his agent slowly heat up the ends of the timing belt over the flame of the lighter. After a few minutes, the younger man uncapped the other item he'd gotten from his pack, a tube of superglue, and applied a little to the one of the ends before sticking the belt back together.

He couldn't help it, he simply had to ask "What the hell are you doing, DiNozzo?"

"Well, I'm not really in the right shoes for a fifteen mile run," DiNozzo answered.

Right, as if that actually told Gibbs anything. The young agent took the mended belt to the engine and quickly re-installed it using the tools that Gibbs had laying about from his initial assessment of the problem. After he put the pieces of the belt housing back on, Gibbs felt compelled to speak up again.

"DiNozzo, there is no way in hell-" he began.

"No, it's not gonna last, but it should get us back to the Navy Yard. Just don't drive like Dale Earnhardt Jr." DiNozzo straightened up and slammed the hood down.

Gibbs stared at him, and the kid stared back for a few seconds before shrugging, collecting the tools and getting back in the car. He shook his head. Apparently, his newest agent was not afraid to give orders of his own. This partnership just might work, Gibbs thought as he got back into the car. He'd just have to make sure that little episodes like this didn't happen very often, it'd be hell for his image.

"This car blows up and its replacement will come out of your paycheck."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, I did say this would be a series, so here's another one. Just remember, if something seems like it would never work, it probably (definitely) won't. This one strikes a little closer to home for me than the last…**

_-Isn't the Navy Supposed to Employ Cats?-_

This was completely insane. Gibbs stood openmouthed at the sight before him. This was not happening, it had to be some sort of caffeine and cold induced delusion, because Gibbs was certainly not looking at his agent in the front of the agency motorpool car with the dash taken apart and all of the wiring exposed. Was the kid completely nuts? Was he trying to provoke the absolute worst tirade that Gibbs had gone on since he was a Gunnery Sergeant? DiNozzo was _so_ close to Gibbs making him walk the entire way home.

Something had happened to the heater on the way up to this God-forsaken frozen shithole of a little town. It had simply stopped working in the middle of the drive. It died with a whimper, and Gibbs didn't have time to look at it, even if it was the middle of winter and it was extremely dangerous to drive around having to scrape frost off the _inside _of the windshield. Hell, he didn't even have the time to drive it to the shop, he was far too busy figuring out what exactly had happened on a cold morning two days ago as well as dealing with the local LEOs giving him grief about the way he was running the case.

They had driven all the way out here because a Marine who had come home for Christmas was dead. Somehow, the man had managed to get leave from his unit but what should have been a happy holiday quickly turned into disaster as severe symptoms of PTSD apparently manifested themselves in the returned marine. Corporal Aaron Mayfield had reportedly threatened his wife and young son in the early hours of Tuesday morning, and his wife, Aileen Mayfield, had killed him with a butcher knife in self-defense.

Gibbs had several major problems with that story. One of which was that by all accounts the young marine hadn't been displaying any symptoms of PTSD before that night. If that were all, it wouldn't be much to go on but when you add that small detail to the much bigger ones of Cpl. Mayfield having bled out in his detached garage from the eight stab wounds his wife delivered to his chest all while the "threatened" son slept peacefully in his bed, well it all added up to murder in Gibbs' book. He felt that DiNozzo had summed it up nicely when he sketched the scene and said, "Stabbing your spouse, that's just nasty business, very personal. Out of desperation, she could get him once, _maybe_ twice. But eight times? That's gotta be rage."

Unfortunately, for them, the local LEOs were making everything harder by stonewalling any and all attempts to talk to the wife, insisting that she was far too fragile to speak of the event. A psychologist had tried to explain this to Gibbs at the hospital when they first tried to interview her. Gibbs had seen the futility in arguing with the doctor, and stormed off before the man finished, more determined than ever to do some digging. A quick check turned up something that at the very least explained the lack of cooperation from the local officials. Aileen Mayfield just happens to be the daughter of the mayor.

With the LEOs also dragging their feet in transferring evidence back to DC and countless interviews to conduct with people that didn't have a bad word to say about either of the Mayfield's, there was simply too much work to worry about a car heater acting up. It was almost too much work for two people period. Not that ever would stop Gibbs from catching a murder, he'd just have to make sure all their focus was devoted to the case and breaking the network of defense that Aileen Mayfield had around her.

Yes, again DiNozzo was the only member of his team. They had gone through a couple of probies in the fall, but neither of them could hack it. There had been odd hours, odd cases, his normal grumpy and gruff personality, and then, of course, dealing with DiNozzo. Gibbs would swear on a stack of bibles that DiNozzo had turned up the annoying factor to eleven just to drive one of them off completely. Really though, it was fine with Gibbs. Eventually, he'd find another person that he could stand working with that would be able to put up with both the both of them, right now the partnership was working fine…well, almost.

The problem right now was focus, and the fact that DiNozzo's seemed to be more on the cold and the lack of heat in the car than finding evidence and motive for the death of the Corporal. He'd been complaining so much that Gibbs thought that he just might shoot the former homicide detective, and now there was this…this impossible sight that he was somehow still seeing.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

DiNozzo looked up, "It's mice."

"What?"

"Mice. Apparently we have a mouse problem at the Naval Yard."

Gibbs was confused. It seemed as if the conversation had done a huge sideways shift and failed to drag him along with it. What the hell did a mouse problem back at the Navy Yard have to do with Tony ripping apart the inside of the car way out here in boondockville?

"We should get some cats," the younger man continued as he looked back to the mass of wires that were spewing from the engine compartment. "They'd certainly take care of the mice, but if we got too many then we'd have a cat problem. Do you know what percent of agents are allergic to cats?"

"No," Gibbs decided to go with simplicity whenever something came up he failed to understand.

"Are you saying we can't get cats? 'Cause I kinda thought that the Navy was supposed to have cats. You know, one on every ship to catch the mice that carry the plague, and all that."

Gibbs sighed, this kid was almost impossible. "No, we can't get cats, if the Navy wanted to kill mice they'd use rat poison. Simple."

"Simple, yeah, and easy to kill someone with. It's probably a bad idea to leave poison laying about where anyone could get it on a ship that is deployed for months at a time."

"There are no plague-ridden mice on ships! And what the hell do mice and cats have to do with whatever are you doing?"

DiNozzo looked up again, this time holding one of the wires for Gibbs to examine. "Mice have feasted on some of the wiring in the car, mainly the wiring that leads to the blower motor and heating system. I'm repairing it."

Gibbs looked at the wire and then to the other items strewn inside the car. Electrical tape, superglue, aluminum foil. Obviously, this kid came from a completely different world of car repair than Gibbs. "You think you can fix the heater with all this?"

"Boss, I've already repaired the lines to the blower motor, and the switch. Now, I'm going through the rest of the wires to make sure nothing else shorts out," Tony defended himself in a half mock hurt tone. "And since I'd like to not have to do this again I thought that we should get some cats for the Navy Yard. They could be like mascots for the motorpool guys!" Tony grinned.

Gibbs scowled. "And you think this is a better use of your time than, say, finding a motive for our murder?"

"Oh that's easy, the wife was having an affair with the dentist," Tony replied easily.

"The dentist."

"Yep, I was looking through the kitchen calendar in the house and noticed that there was a dental cleaning sticker on every month. Nobody has that many cleanings. nobody normal, that is. So I went to talk to the dentist, Dr. Mark Halberger by the way, and he spilled his guts about the affair. He's waiting down at the station to talk to you. I had them put him in holding, told 'em he threatened me so they wouldn't get suspicious."

Gibbs stared at Tony. Watched as the other agent went back to working on the wiring, gluing small pieces of aluminum foil to the exposed section and then wrapping the whole thing up with the electrical tape.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he managed to ask.

"You were busy with the mayor, and then the chief of police, and then Mayfield's CO, and then the wife's best friend. I just figured that it'd be like interrupting you in interrogation. Rule twenty-two?"

Gibbs sighed, "Rule twenty-two is for interrogating suspects not interviewing witnesses. When you get something on a case, you tell me. Got it?"

"Read ya loud and clear, boss," Tony said quickly. "Won't happen again."

Gibbs turned away leaving the younger agent to the wiring. He smiled as he thought of the younger man's thought processes. Making the intuitive leap that was just what they needed to put this murdering wife behind bars for life. Gibbs felt pride in the younger man start to grow. Yep, this partnership was working just fine.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, it's been awhile. Sorry 'bout that, life's just been…life. Anyway, this chapter was actually supposed to be completely different, but Abby just jumped the line. Now that I think about it, it's probably better this way. Just please keep in mind that this is still set pre-series. **

**The car fix de jour today is actually from the plausible files, (shocking, I know). Enjoy!**

_~~ Judgmental People ~~_

Pulled off onto the shoulder, caution lights blinking, Abby sat behind the large wheel of her hearse, waiting. Waiting impatiently. With her fingers idly drumming on the steering wheel, she sighed. She hated being stuck on the side of the road in the hearse, it was just weird, people would slow down recognizing the type of vehicle, and then openly stare at her as they drove by. The constant stream of drivers passing by with their surprised eyes and gaping mouths irritated her. What? Couldn't she be a hearse driver? After all, she habitually wore black, and was always, _always _respectful of the dead. Was there something socially unacceptable to a hearse driver also wearing pigtails, chains, and leather cuffs? Was she somehow not _allowed_ to blare Deathswitch through the vehicle's speakers? Stupid people.

"Oh, come on, DiNozzo! Where are you?" Her frustration with waiting boiled over.

Abby knew that Gibbs would've come if she'd called, but the director had really wanted Gibbs at the security conference this time, he'd skipped out on the last one and Morrow threatened another mandatory sexual harassment seminar if Gibbs didn't both go to the security conference _and_ stay for the whole thing. So, that left Abby with the new guy. She sighed, again. Rumor had it that he knew what he was doing around cars, she knew that he _had_ fixed the timing belt that the motor pool mechanics had sabotaged, and it wasn't as if she didn't like him, he was just an unknown variable in the equation that was Team Gibbs right now. Abby had never coped with change very well, or unknowns. Burley would've been here already. Of course, Burley would also be completely useless in this situation.

She watched in her rearview mirror as a gleaming, low slung, little sliver corvette pulled in right behind her. Good God! Who on earth was this yaywho? She so, _so_ didn't want to deal with a whack job right now, all she wanted was for DiNozzo to get here and figure out the terrifying squeak problem. She started frantically searching for the mace that Gibbs gave her a year or so ago that she'd put in her glove box. She groaned as a bunch of papers and some almost unidentifiable plastic pieces to something (maybe her TV remote?) fell out. Why was it that when you wanted something it was never right where you left it? The universe was just seriously unfair!

There was a knocking at her window. Abby risked a glance at the possible axe murderer, and instead saw one Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo grinning at her. She sagged forward in relief. Collecting herself, Abby opened the door and stepped out of the hearse, taking Tony's very gentlemanly hand in assistance on the loose gravel, and then swung a light-but-noticeable punch into Tony's shoulder. "Don't _do_ that to me!"

"Do what?" he protested, rubbing at his shoulder, "And OW by the way."

"Come up behind me all stalker-y and serial killer-y!"

"Okay, first of all, you _called_ me to come out and help, what else am I supposed to do but pull in behind you? Would you like me to drive by waving first? And second if there are a lot of serial killers out on the prowl in cars like mine, we're all in a lot more trouble than the news allows us to believe."

Okay so maybe he had a point, or a couple of them. But really, who's to say that the next Ted Bundy isn't from money and driving around in an Aston Martin right this moment. And speaking of stylish cars, "Is that _seriously_ your car?" Abby asked.

"Yeah," he said lovingly, looking back at the corvette. If he'd heard the slightly offensive incredulity in her voice he must have chosen not to call her on it, something for which she was grateful. "After what happened to my last car, I decided to splurge a bit. Haven't regretted it. The relationship is still in its early stages, but I think it just might last."

Abby stifled a laugh, it never ceased to amaze her how men would talk of their cars in terms relationships and feelings far more than they would about actual people. It wasn't that she didn't like cars herself, she openly admitted to admiring the beauty and form of a really nice car. She'd be lying if she said that she was immune to the excitement most felt at the sheer amount of speed, brake horse power and torque that a fine automobile produced. She'd just never mistake driving a beautiful, exhilarating, powerful machine like the one before her eyes for moving perfectly with a dance partner in a crush of people in one of her favorite clubs or the sudden euphoric rush of oxytocin and endorphins shared in a darkened hotel room close to that club.

Looking at Tony's corvette though, Abby was kind of hoping that Tony would decide that driving the hearse further would be too dangerous for her and take it upon himself to drive it to the shop. If he did that, she might be able to spend a little time behind the wheel of that car. A tingle ran down her spine at the anticipation of punching the accelerator of that baby and being forcibly driven backwards into the seat as those horses started racing. Okay, so there were a few similarities, but-

"Earth to Abby!"

Tony snapping his fingers in front of her face interrupted Abby's thought processes, and she blushed slightly for being caught out ogling his car. She turned her focus to him, determinedly putting the idea of fast, sleek cars out of her head and reminding herself that there was a squeak situation.

"You said you heard a bad squeak." Apparently, Tony also wanted to bring this situation a little more on point.

"Well, it was more of a loud squee-ack from my front brakes," Abby responded. "I thought it was nothing at first, you know, maybe some water on the brake pads or something like that, but then I hit this pothole and it got louder. Like really, really loud, and I started thinking about high speed crashes that result from faulty brakes, and how many people could get killed if I lost control. A hearse probably wouldn't start to roll like an SUV, but it would spin, and then all I could think about was ping-balling my way through traffic causing a chain reaction-"

Tony held up his hand to stop her ramblings, "Okay. So, there was a squeak and you were worried that your brakes would spontaneously fail and you would end up causing mass death and destruction. About right?"

"Yes."

"So, instead of carefully driving to the nearest mechanic, you decided to test your brakes and stop on the side of the freeway."

"I couldn't take the chance, Tony! What if someone had stopped short in front of me? What if a deer or a dog ran out on the road?"

"Alright, alright," Tony held up his hands, "Let's just have a look. Which side was the loudest?" Tony turned to the forlorn looking vehicle with its hazards blinking. "And no, by the way."

"The right. And 'no' what?"

Tony smiled, "No, you can't drive my car." He bent toward her, encroaching on her personal space, "You might be able to persuade me to take you for a ride, though," He winked at her, before turning his attention back to the hearse.

"Oh really," Abby asked, stretching the words out. She leaned down to where he was peering under her car for where he'd have to place the jack, and spoke in a low voice almost right into his ear, "Just what might I have to do to persuade you?"

He looked up at her with a smirk on his face and deadpanned, "That would depend on just how far you are willing - I mean, how far you _want_ to go, Miss Sciuto."

Abby felt her eyebrow arch involuntarily as she smiled at him. It was unusual for anyone to so easily flirt back at her, and she wasn't used to not having the final word. DiNozzo was constantly surprising her with how much innuendo he could pack into a sentence, and right now, there was no response she could make that wouldn't seriously cross the line. He seemed to sense this and shifted both his focus and the topic back to the car matter at hand.

"Where's your jack?"

"It's in the back under the carpet."

"Alright then."

Tony stood up and stepped away from her, effectively ending any possible awkwardness from their prior topic. However, awkwardness might just be unavoidable. Abby worried her hands a little bit as Tony moved to open the back of the hearse. She didn't know if it was going to be a problem, and she didn't want him to freak out. Up until now, he seemed like he was really cool with her just being her, oddities and all, but she was probably going to need to explain this.

She saw Tony go completely still when he opened the door, he blinked a couple of times, then looked over at her with an eyebrow quirked. "Is this yours? Or do you have a second job I don't know about? Or did it come free when you bought the hearse?"

Oh, he better not be laughing at her. Abby narrowed her eyes. That was going to be one of her rules, 'Do not laugh at Abby,' she didn't know what number it was yet, but it would be there. It should probably go near the top along with 'Do not lie to Abby,' which was going to be rule number one. Maybe it wasn't important enough to put as number two, but it was seriously going to be in the top five. She stomped over to where Tony was standing, righteous fury flowing through her veins.

"Yes, it's mine. Yes, I sleep in it. You got a problem with that?"

Tony's head quirked to one side, and he chewed on his lip as he regarded her for a few seconds. Hints of confusion and wariness crept into his voice as he hesitantly asked, "Is this like a vampire thing?"

"No, it's not a vampire thing!" Abby answered defensively, but hedged as she continued, "Well, in the strictest sense, it kinda could be seeing as all vampires need to sleep in their coffins, but that's not why I have…look it's not like I want to be _buried_ in it! It's…it's just…it's an Abby thing."

He continued to contemplate her for a couple of seconds longer, "Okay," he said with a single head nod. Abby watched as he looked around it in the opening trying to figure out how to move it. She was moving to help when he turned back to her with a small smile "You _sleep_ in it-"

"Yep."

"And you…?"

"Oh yeah," she grinned.

"You are one kinky chick, Sciuto," He matched her grin.

"You have no idea."

He laughed, "Well, help me move this thing out so we can get to the jack." He gestured to the other side of the coffin as he released one of the clamps that kept it in place.

She went to the other side and undid the clamps on her side and then they both began to pull the coffin out. When there was about half of the coffin sticking out of the back Tony moved around to support the end.

"Damn, this thing is as heavy as a couch. See if you can squeeze in and get to the floor compartment."

Abby carefully climbed up and shimmied around the coffin. "Yeah I know, I had to have three guys from my apartment building help me get it into the car."

"I bet. Say, why are you driving around with it anyway?"

"I'm dropping it off to have it repaired." Abby said absently as she looked at the hearse's carpet floor.

"Really?" Tony drew the word out suggestively, "You broke your coffin?"

"Mind out of the gutter DiNozzo, it's the hinge. I need just a little more space here and I should be able to get it." She pushed the it further out the opening backing Tony up a step.

"Got it?" he asked a little desperately.

"Just a little bit more," Abby pushed the coffin again.

"Abby I don't think I can hold this much longer, hurry up!"

She removed the toolkit access panel but couldn't get the jack out of the space. "I can almost get it, I need like two more inches." She pushed on the coffin forward.

"Abby!"

"Got it!" Abby called out triumphantly just as Tony's grip failed and the coffin pitched forward in the hearse, gravity claiming the other end and the whole thing slid out of the back until the bottom was resting on the ground and the top was leaning a little to the side in the hearse.

"Lost it." Tony said from the ground beside the slightly askance casket. "And I can see what you mean about the hinge thing."

"Oh my God, Tony! Are you okay?" Abby scrambled from the back of the hearse to the ground beside her new friend. Gibbs was so going kill her if she broke the new guy. "Please be okay, I didn't mean-"

"I'm fine, Abby." He waved a dismissive hand, and then got up and dusted off his pants. "I dodge bullets for a living, now I can add coffins to my resume."

Abby punched him in the arm, "That's not funny! Don't ever talk about the possibility of getting hurt like that."

Tony rubbed at his arm "Ow! Okay, I get it, geeze. Let's just find out about the squeak problem."

Abby retrieved the jack from the hearse and handed it to Tony. She was about to comment on the fact that she'd never quite figured out just how the metal piece that doubled as the lug nut wrench actually fit into the jack and cranked it, and that she learned this on the flat tire fiasco where she also learned that Stan was worse than useless when it came to anything automotive when she noticed that Tony already had her car jacked up about six inches.

"So, are you good with all machinery or just cars?" she asked smiling.

"Cars, mostly. Flashlight?"

She reached found her flashlight on the floor in the passenger's side, a result of the panicked glove box search of earlier, and handed it to him. "Here ya go."

"Thanks. I worked on some older cars when I was in high school, but I really got into car repair when I was in college." Tony worked his way under the vehicle and was shining the light around her brakes.

"Cool, what kind of older cars?"

"Abby, I was a teenager. We worked on muscle cars."

"Hmm…so you wouldn't know anything about, say… a 1932 Ford Deuce Coupe?"

"Now _that_ would be a cool car. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I see a candy apple red one in the window of a dealership every time I visit my brother and I keep thinking that I really, really want it."

"I bet I could figure it out, if you wanted me to."

"Cool."

"Abs, I'm not really seeing anything that could be your squeak problem…"

Abby registered his voice as she looked up from studying him study her brakes, but couldn't tell him the words seemed to bounce off her forehead as she saw a black Toyota Camry pulled in behind Tony's 'vette and presumably the owner of that vehicle (a 40-something, balding, slightly overweight man wearing actual honest-to-God purple and yellow plaid pants) walking towards them.

"Um, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"We have a little company."

As Tony poked his head out from under her hearse the man spoke up, "What on _earth_ is going on here?"

"We're grave robbing. What does it look like, Genius?" Tony said sarcastically.

The man stopped walking and stared at them, eyes wide. Abby could see him appraise the coffin leaning out of the back of the hearse, and the both of them. He looked uncertain, undecided, and very _very _weirded out.

"I…I think…I'm gonna call the cops."

Abby didn't know that Tony could move that fast. Without her even realizing it he had rolled out from under the car and was quickly covering the distance that to the plaid-wearing man with long strides. She decided to stay back next to the tire, and let him fix this situation that _he _caused. His back was to her so she couldn't see, but she could practically hear the fake smile and insincere charm in his next words.

"Buddy, buddy. You don't need to call the cops. I'm a federal agent and there is nothing more going on here than a little car trouble."

The man backed up a few steps, holding up his cell phone, arm stretched outward between himself and Tony as if the cell phone were a shield, or a gun, or something. "_You're_ with the FBI?"

What looked like an exasperated sigh escaped Tony. "No, I'm with NCIS." He reached into his pocket and pulled out what Abby could only assume was his badge and ID to show the man.

"Never heard of it."

"Of course you haven't." Another sigh. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We investigate crimes committed against the Navy or Naval personnel. See, this is me." Abby watched Tony step forward again and move his ID closer to the man so that he could take a good look. As the man looked down Tony easily plucked the cell phone from the man's hand.

"Hey!" the man grabbed for the phone that Tony quickly moved out of his reach. "Well, it still doesn't explain what you're doing out here with a dead body."

"Calm down sir, the coffin isn't occupied at this moment. It's evidence in a capital murder case and my co-worker was transporting it back to headquarters when she had some car trouble." Tony's voice was calming and yet that typical cop-like authoritative at the same time, but the plaid-pants man wasn't buying it easily.

"_That_ coffin is evidence?" His question practically dripped skepticism.

"A man was buried alive in it."

"Really?" The man squeaked out.

"Yes, but that's really all I can say about an open case. Now, let me assure you that everything is under control here," Tony handed the man's cell phone back to him and gently herded him more toward his own vehicle. "There is nothing that you need to do here, sir, so please continue on your way. And let me thank-you on behalf of all law enforcement officials for your Good Samaritan spirit."

"Um…okay," the man cautiously nodded his head and started walking back to his car. He turned to look back at them every few steps and Abby was sure that Tony's was wearing his best you-can-trust-me-I'm-a-cop smile the entire time it took the man to reach is car and drive past them. The look on his face had Abby half tempted to flip him off, but she restrained herself, barely.

Tony turned back to her and rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

"What, people looking at you like you're some sort of strange lab creation with three heads?" Abby glared at the retreating car.

"No, people not knowing what NCIS stands for."

She laughed, "You decided to go with 'A man was buried alive in it' seriously?"

"What did you want me to say? The truth?" Tony chuckled, "In my experience, it's always better to lie to strangers that will never know the difference."

Abby looked at him curiously, "And that's never come back to bite you in the ass?"

"_Very_ rarely." Tony said as he moved to the car jack and started lowering it.

"Wait! What are you doing? What about the squeak?" Abby protested.

"You had a tiny little rock in your brake caliper. I found it and removed it right before our walking fashion disaster friend showed up. Everything else is completely fine."

"Seriously, a _rock_?"

"A pebble."

"And you didn't keep it for me?"

Tony shook his head and laughed as he gathered up the jack, and handed it to her. "Let's get this all fixed up so you can get back on the road before we get another unwelcome helper. I really don't want to have to call Gibbs and tell him how I landed in jail today."

Abby thought about question the implied idea that Tony would eventually end up in jail for something silly, and moved to put away the jack and set about righting her coffin. Man, the repair bill for this was going to be a killer.

**A/N: Well, that's probably twice the size that I wanted any of these chapters to be, but at this point I'm a slave to the plot bunnies. It was also my first time writing in Abby's voice, and honestly, I'm a little nervous about how it turned out, but I've fiddled with it so much that I don't think there is anything else that I could change to make it better. Anyway, thanks for reading!**

**~Angel**


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